


Two Way Communication

by NewAgeVintage



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 22:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16207007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewAgeVintage/pseuds/NewAgeVintage
Summary: Rusty is in a sour mood and Brock drags him to the grocery store. Brock is on edge and Rusty creates a disaster.Two short look into how these bizarre men communicate.





	1. I open my mouth and out pops something spiteful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title/Song inspo from Tenderness by General Public. Rusty is moping.

Rude words and uncalled for comments were common in the Venture household. Rusty seemed to speak his own language, one that relied on spite. Those who weren’t familiar with it had a hard time understanding the subtleties.

Dean and Hank could interpret it well enough to know that their father didn’t dislike them as much as it seemed. Pete was fluent and Billy picked up on it quickly. Brock Sampson could write the next Rosetta Stone.

Cruelty was often due to jealously, sarcasm normally related to endearment, and prodding at someone’s downfalls was either resentment or tenderness depending on the context. The difficulty in understanding what something truly meant faded away the more and more you knew about Rusty Ventures personal quirks and downfalls.

Honest sentiment only came about in times of extreme stress or intoxication and often hinted at a brewing storm. Genuine compliments masked self loathing and a fear of loneliness.

The subtext was obvious to Brock when Rusty looked up from his newspaper to tell him, “Well, you look nice today.” Brock was wearing what he wore most days, a pressed polo shirt and jeans.

“Thanks Doc.”

Both of the boys were already out of the house for the day and Pete and Billy had the day off. Rusty clearly needed company. Brock had been planning on going out and running some errands, but chose to sit down at the kitchen table instead.

“So, ya got anything planned today?”

“Not really,” Rusty took a sip of his coffee. “I might go down to the lab to work on some blueprints. Helper could use a driver update too.” He obviously wasn’t going to work on either of those things, it was past noon and he was still in his robe. His actual plans were obvious to Brock, sit around and feel like an empty nester.

“You should run errands with me.”

Rusty sighed, as if it was some sort of burden to go to the grocery store, “fine, fine, you always buy the wrong coffee creamer anyway. Might as well make sure the shopping is done right.” It roughly translated into ‘Yes! Please get me out of this damn apartment.’

Brock smiled, making a list while Rusty finished his coffee and went upstairs to get dressed.

After about twenty minutes Rusty came back downstairs, dressed in khaki slacks and a wide collared blazer over a turtle neck. Brock considered returning the compliment he was paid earlier, but decided to leave it be.

“Ya wanna go over this list and make sure I didn’t forget anything?” He didn’t forget anything, he had jotted everything down from the cereal Hank likes to flour (which they’d been out of for over a week and kept neglecting to pick up). Despite not actually needing anything additional Rusty made a show of going through the cabinets to check. Brock knew that sometimes he just needed to feel included in a process.

“Well I’m sure we forgot something, but let’s just get this over with.” Rusty hands the list back to Brock as they head out the door.

They take the charger, despite the agitation of driving through city traffic Brock still preferred it over the crowded subways and sidewalks. He turns onto the highway at the first chance and heads out of the city. Rusty starts to question the decision and is quickly cut off, “there’s no good grocery stores in city limits that don’t have lines longer than the traffic.” Rusty can’t argue the point and just ‘hmm’s in agreement.

The drive starts out quiet, Brock breaks multiple road laws and Rusty occasionally makes fun of bumper stickers. His mood is obviously improved by getting out of the house, the comments he makes about other vehicles and pedestrians start to get pettier and more lively the further they drive.

Brock joins in on the commentary and the irony of two men stuck in the 70s making fun of a man in a puffy vest escapes both of them. “So do you think he forgot where he parked the delorean or what?”

The rest of the trip goes quickly, and soon Brock is pulling into a parking space. They’re a strange sight in the store full of suburban families. Brock pushes the cart and Rusty walks beside him, close enough for the implications of two middle aged men shopping together to be exaggerated.

Goal oriented and focused Brock sticks to the list, only going down aisles they need something from. Easily distracted and overly aware of the people around them Rusty adds unnecessary things to the cart.

Despite alcohol not being on the list they make their way down that aisle. Brock grabs a case of beer and Rusty peruses the liquor, settling on a bottle of Kahlua, a bottle of Baileys, and a bottle of expensive bourbon.

As the bottles clink into the cart Rusty is distracted by the sound of women whispering to each other. Two twenty something's are looking at Brock and giggling. Easily threatened and prone to jealousy Rusty can’t let it go.

“Hey Brock.”

“Yeah?”, Brock’s already pushing the cart towards the next aisle, unfazed by the spectators.

Rusty places a hand on his arm and leans into his personal space to look at the list, not actually reading it. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget anything.” The ‘you’ is stressed, as if this wasn’t a joint effort.

Brock rolls his eyes and wraps and arm around Rusty’s waist, “Ya know Rust, it’s stupid to be jealous of people being jealous.” By the time Rusty can sputter a response he’s already been gently herded into the next aisle.

Waiting in line to pay Rusty picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. He’s quiet and noticeably agitated at still being in public. The cashier puts the eggs with other items, as opposed to separately and Brock wordlessly steps in and rearranges the bags before Rusty can tell the cashier how terrible she is at her job.

Getting a anxious mess of a man through a full grocery trip without any public outbursts is an exhausting feat and Brock is relieved once the groceries are loaded into the car and they’re back on the road.

Rusty fiddles with his phone during the drive back and is relatively silent. Brock carries the majority of the bags upstairs in one trip, leaving Rusty to carry a gallon of milk and a single bag.

The change is mood is immediate once he’s sitting back at the table watching Brock put things away. “Well I’d call that a job well done! It’s nice to have a kitchen full of food.” Brock closes the pantry, the last of the groceries tucked away neatly.

“Mhm, you should cook.” The request is benign enough, but Brock wonders if it’s becoming obvious that he’s just trying to distract Rusty. The comment from earlier in the day still sits at the back of his mind, now joined by the moment of jealousy at the store.

“Well, I am a great cook. Cooking is just another form of science you know.” Rusty stands up and starts pulling things out of the cabinets and fridge, “Go start the grill, we should cook these steaks.”

Brock ends up grilling the meat while Rusty puts together some sort of cheesy potato dish. Helper sets the table and they eat in relative silence.

The table is cleared and it’s already past six. Neither of the boys have come home yet. Brock and Rusty are sitting together on the couch, half watching a history channel documentary on crop circles.

Brock lightly squeezes Rusty’s hand, “You all right Doc?”

“What? Of course I’m fine! You’re the one who’s been dragging me around all day.”

Satisfied that whatever was brewing in the back of Rusty’s mind this morning has subsided Brock pulls him closer to him on the couch. “S’good.”

“Uh, thanks for getting me out of the house Brock.” He won't make eye contact when he says it, too proud to admit any sort of weakness.

“Just wanted some company.” Brock gives him an easy out and he lets the topic end there. It was nice to have company, it was nice to act like a family, to do something mundane as shopping and sharing a meal.

Their past was built on blood and stress but the domestic undercurrent of raising the boys and running a household kept it together. Neither of them communicated it well but Brock thrived on the odd mix of violence and tenderness and Rusty needed someone to help him balance the different aspects of his life.

Rusty falls asleep on the couch, Brock’s arm reassuring around his shoulder.


	2. I'm just thinking of the right words to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title/Song inspo from The Promise by When in Rome. Brock is stressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the one that earned the canon typical violence tag.

Grunts and nods where as large a part of Brock Samson’s vocabulary as words were. He would say and do just enough to get a point across and not much more. It caused him to come across as aloof and indifferent, which wasn’t completely inaccurate.

Very few people could pick up on the nuances of his actions, and even those who could would have difficulties deciphering his mood. Hunter Gathers probably knew how to read him the best, as she had a hand in creating his military persona. His coworkers knew him well enough in a mission setting to work as a team, but missed smaller queues. To Rusty Venture he was an open book, even if neither of them realized it.

Smiles were rare enough that a pleased look and a forced grin could get confused, but the way his eyes softened in a tender moment could give it away. Awkward moments he didn’t know how to handle tended to be more delicate, pats on the back and forced speech. Genuine moments were more harsh, emotion tended to make Brock forget his own strength, playful pushes could accidentally knock someone over.

Brock was well aware that he was more street smart than classically intelligent. The Venture’s were not the sharpest family under OSI protection, but they were more educated than him and he would often keep his thoughts to himself when a conversation touched on something he was unsure of. For this reason Rusty often used him to bounce ideas off of.

They were sitting in the lab, Rusty rambling on about the possible uses of some sort of dubious medical equipment he was designing. Brock was leaning against a table, faking eye contact and interest. Usually Rusty would ignore the fact he wasn’t truly getting attention, but something was off about the way Brock’s eye brows were furrowed.

“Brock... Hey, Brock?” Rusty waves his hand in front of Brock’s face, and the hand is quickly pushed out of his personal space.

“Yeah, sounds great Doc, uh, lots of medical uses and all that.”

Rusty rolls his eyes and slumps back in his chair, “I asked you if you were okay, dumb ass.”

“I’m fine.”

Not satisfied with the response, but not wanting to push it too far Rusty simply clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and picks up his notes. “Well, I’m done for the day anyway.” He crosses the room and tosses the stack of papers into a filing cabinet. He heads towards the elevator and gives Brock a look that says ‘aren’t you coming?’

“I’ll be up in a minute Doc.”

Rusty goes upstairs and Brock stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, pondering what he’s doing here. It had been quiet recently and the lack of action was making him antsy. Antsy because it meant something would happen soon, and antsy because he was made for combat and that itch needed scratching. His worrying was cut short by the sound of his watch beeping.

“Brock!”

“What, I said I’d be up in a min-“ before he could finish his sentence he looked at the video on his watch and realized where Rusty was, the panic room. “I’m on my way.” The video connection ended with a click and Brock was climbing the emergency stairs two at a time.

The penthouse appeared empty, but appearances could be deceiving. He silently worked his way through the living room up to the bedrooms, checking each door. The ceiling. Before he could look up someone fell on top of him. Brock threw the figure off of him easily, and dove forward.

The person was dressed in black and red, guild, but what branch? Not stopping to get answers a neck snaps in his hands. More operatives pour into the hallway. The sheer number almost overwhelms him, but they get picked off one by one.

Not expecting this sort of raid Brock was only equipped with his knife and hands, but it’s more than enough. Necks are snapped, torsos gutted, eyes pushed back into brains with large thumbs. The guilds weaponry is impressive, but useless when the arms holding it are popped out of the socket.

Covered in blood and newly ripped clothing Brock fights his way through the apartment towards the panic room. By the time he reaches the locked metal door each and every assailant has fallen, either dead or dying.

Rusty opens the door and peaks out into the hall at the blood and tears soaking into the carpet.

Panting and wild eyed Brock screams at him, “What the fuck was that Doc!?” He pushes Rusty back into the panic room and slams the button that drops the door shut. Rusty tries to interrupt, but Brock is in the moment, flicking through all the security cameras on his watch, making sure the threat has been squashed. Satisfied that the building is clear he turns his attention to Rusty, scanning him for injuries. “You all right? What’s going on?”

Rusty seems to be in as decent shape as he ever will be, no blood or obvious wounds, but has a look on his face similar to a child caught stealing. “Uh, training exercise?”

It takes Brock a minute to process, “You called the guild.”

“I may have called in a favor…”

“You called the guild, and had them raid the building.”

“Yeah. I, uh, I called the guild and had them raid the building.”

Brock sits down and uses the back of his hand to wipe blood out of his eyes. “Why the fuck would you do that?” He only sounds half angry, like a parent trying to scold a child for something they found hilarious.

“You were stressed out and honestly Brock, it was starting to be a real downer.”

He starts laughing, covered in blood and sitting on the floor head in hands. “Ya know Rust, thanks, I think.”

Staring at the walking bloodstain of a bodyguard Rusty mumbles “Well, I had to do something.” Brock stands and pats his back with more power than necessary, almost knocking him off balance. “Someone is still going to have to clean up this mess.”

Brock rolls his eyes, “then call in another favor.” Before Rusty can protest he’s picked up and slung over a bloody shoulder, “I still got plenty of energy to work out.”

As he’s being carried out of the panic room and into the bedroom Rusty wears a lecherous grin. He may prefer quiet days, but being the doctor in need of rescue had its own appeal.


End file.
